


Long Time Coming

by poisontaster



Series: Heart 'Verse [35]
Category: Angel: the Series, Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, Multi, Past Relationship(s), Rivalry, Sibling Incest, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-04
Updated: 2006-09-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 17:24:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5936698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After more than a decade, Connor comes for a visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Time Coming

It's about a half mile walk down to the main road where the mailbox is. It's Dean's job to get the mail. Dean doesn't know if Sam really has any objections to it but Dean didn't let it get that far, hijacking it for himself. He doesn't get around nearly enough as it is.

In the beginning, Sam would walk with him. He knew it was because Sam was worried; worried Dean would fall, worried he'd get too tired and be unable to hop-step his way back up to the house. It was irritating and Dean would snark and bitch the whole way, but he let Sam do it because _he_ didn't feel all that confident himself. The driveway's never been more than graveled and oiled and sometimes he has trouble on the shifty surface. Now, Sam only comes if the weather's particularly bad or—sometimes—if he just wants to keep Dean company.

There's someone standing by the mailbox.

Dean slips his Ruger from the back of his pants and hides it behind his thigh. They haven't had any trouble at the house, but he's just waiting for it. They did a lot of damage in their hunting days and it's not outside the realm of possibility that someone or something wants a little payback.

Then the someone—male, tall, skinnier than even Sam—turns and Dean's breath chuffs out in disgust. He tucks the gun back into his rear holster. "Connor," he says.

Connor smiles. It hasn't changed since the last time—more than a decade ago—simultaneously sweet and slightly insane. There is silver in the still-long hair coming out from under his knit cap, but none in his light beard or moustache. "Long time, Dean," he answers and holds out his hand.

Dean can still feel the terrifying strength in Connor's grip, but Connor doesn't try to overwhelm him with it the way he once would have and Dean doesn't squeeze hard just to provoke him. God help them both, maybe they've matured some since they last saw each other. Then Connor's stepping into him and that red painted-doll mouth is on his, tongue slipping in slow and easy.

Dean takes a step back—on his bad leg, which nearly buckles under him as his weight hits it wrong. Connor darts forward with his freaky-ass reflexes and catches Dean's arm, holding him up until Dean can get his feet under him again. "Don't do that," Dean warns and wipes his mouth. He pulls out of Connor's grip and puts a step between them.

"Aren't I allowed to be glad to see you?" Connor asks innocently—not that his preternatural ass has ever been innocent as far as Dean can tell—and he looks amused.

"Yeah," Dean mutters. "Yeah. I can see this is going to be _all kinds_ of fun." He sighs. "C'mon. Come up to the house. Maybe Sam'll be glad to see you."

Connor's grin widens and he hoists a duffel onto his shoulder. "Oh, c'mon, Dean. You know you missed me."

Dean snorts. "Yeah, Connor—really didn't."

***

"Ah, hell."

Sam's in the parlor with Giselle and Peter; the glass he's levitating falls suddenly, shattering on the wood. Giselle and Peter scramble out of the way.

"Someone here to see you, dear," Dean says dryly, leaning against the doorjamb. Connor doffs his cap with one hand and shakes his hair out, still grinning. Dean's seen what happens when Connor stops smiling; the Cheshire grin bugs the shit of out Dean, but he likes it better than the alternative.

"Connor." Sam gets to his feet slowly; his knee's been bothering him the last couple days. The wariness breaks open a second later and is replaced by his usual open friendliness. He steps forward and holds out his hand. "Hey, man; long time."

"Too long," Connor agrees, stepping into the handshake and then the hug that follows it.

Dean's jaw ticks a little but he only says, "Peter, Giselle, clean this up, would you?"

Peter's eyes burn hot and his jaw juts a bit, but he doesn't argue; guess a broken nose did that much for him. Giselle, who never says much of anything under the best of circumstances, waves her hands in tiny pinwheels and shards of glass lift up off the floor in a soft swirling clatter. Kid's better than a Hoover.

"What are you doing here?" Sam claps a hand on Connor's shoulder and steers him back towards the door. Drawing even with Dean, Sam nudges Dean in the shoulder, his fingers brushing lightly over Dean's wrist. Dean flicks a taut half-smile. He doesn't feel the same ugly jealousy at the sight of Connor that he used to, but it's important to establish up front that Connor's the interloper here. "C'mon, it's almost dinner time. You hungry?"

"You know me to not be hungry?" Connor asks. His pale, sinful eyes flicker at Dean, looking amused and Dean just looks right back at him. "And maybe I'm just visiting."

"Connor. You don't visit."

"First time for everything, right?"

***

"So, seriously, man; what's up? What are you doing here?" Sam plops down next to Dean on their couch, bumping shoulders and putting his non-beer-holding hand on Dean's thigh in obvious display. Dean can't help his smirk; looking across at Connor, he sees Connor's mouth twist a little.

"Seriously. I'm just visiting," Connor says, setting his beer down on the table and stretching his back, raising his arms to cross them on top of his head. "I just finished a gig couple towns over and I knew you guys were here. Thought maybe I'd cadge a meal, catch up on old times."

"Connor, we don't have any old times," Dean drawls. He's mostly kidding; he doesn't expect it when something in Connor's façade cracks a little showing the barest glimpse of something Dean can't even start to get a handle on before it's gone.

"Yeah," Connor says dully. His arms slip from above his head to lie heavy and leaden in his lap. "Maybe that's my problem."

Dean feels more than sees Sam glance at him. But it's bad enough dealing with Sam's Dr. Phil moments; it's too early and too good a night for him to go digging in Connor's emotional "issues". "So you still hunting?" he asks instead and raises his bottle to his lips. Sam taps an unknown message against the inseam of Dean's jeans.

Connor shrugs, eyes on the label of his beer like it's written with all life's answers. He blinks and he's right back to the jittering bounciness that lies beneath his surface quiet. "Yeah. M'kinda like a guard dog, you know? Too old and too stupid to do much else. And I'm still good at it. Whacked out gene pool's good for something." He looks up and the smile's back at full wattage. "Surprised to hear you guys had hung it up."

"Well, we didn't _hang it up_ …" Dean protests.

"Really?" Sam cuts in, polite-cold. "I thought we were lucky to have lived this long. Not all of us can have vampire parents."

Connor shakes his head. "I'm not… This is good, man. It's real good. Somebody needs to be teaching people about the shit that's out there. I'm not knocking it. I'm just surprised." He nods at Dean. "I always pegged you as a blaze of glory type."

Dean shrugs. "I could say the same 'bout you."

Connor's grin widened. "Oh, I tried," he says. "More than once. Things just…don't always work out the way you want."

"Tell me about it," Dean mutters.

And like that, it's suddenly easy again and they can talk about old hunts and old scars, the things they've always had in common (other than Sam).

***

"Fuck." Connor rakes a hand through his hair. "I am way too fucking drunk."

It's probably true; he's had almost twice as many as Sam or Dean and at some point, he'd switched to the bottle of vodka they had in the freezer.

That might have been when he'd come to sit on the couch too. Dean sits in between him and Sam, pretty pleasantly fuddled himself. Not so fuddled, however, that he doesn't notice Connor's hand is resting on his opposite thigh. Not sure how long it's been there, though. Not sure if he should do anything about it. Even after all this time, Sam's pretty fucking possessive (don't even get Dean _started_ on the tattoo) but he either hasn't noticed or doesn't care and Connor was always more Sam's friend (Sam's lover) anyway. Besides, it's his left leg, the good one, the one that bears all his weight and moving's going to shift them all.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Sam murmurs, slouched down low with his head on Dean's shoulder.

"No." Connor shakes his head. "No. I'm just saying…s'been a while." He shifts and wiggles and puts his head on Dean's other shoulder. Dean tries not to squirm. Then he wonders, with vague irritation, when he became such a prude. Hanging out with Sam all this time has really cramped his style in some fundamental ways. He closes his eyes and lets his head tip back.

"You're welcome to stay if you want," Dean offers finally. Sam pets his right thigh, fingertips kneading lightly and tilts his head so that his lips butterfly across Dean's jaw, rasping over stubble. "We've got a spare room…or the couch, if the bed's, you know, too fancy or whatever…"

"And what about your bed?" Connor asks. Dean doesn't even know how it happens—Connor's still fast like a freak, that's how—but suddenly Connor's straddling his waist, thumb tracing the thick line of scar tissue across Dean's face. Dean blinks up at him, shivering. No one but Sam touches his scar. Connor's tongue wets his mouth and it looks almost nervous. "Is there room there?"

"Connor…" Sam knots a hand in Connor's sweater but doesn't pull him away. Dean's hand is fisted in the corduroy at Connor's hip, but he doesn't tug either. He doesn't know exactly what they're doing here, exactly where this is going, but it seems like they've been on this path for a long time coming. "There wasn't a gig a couple towns over," Sam says softly. He always drawls more when he's been drinking; the vowels are thick, stretched. It flushes warm through Dean like the liquor, pools in his groin and distracts him. "We'd have heard about it. So let's start over. _What are you doing here?_ "

Connor makes a soft, whining noise in the back of his throat, hips moving lightly over Dean's groin. "You," he breathes. "I came for both of you. I just...wanted to see you."

Sam tilts up on his hip and whispers into Dean's ear, "I love you," before he curls one hand around the back of Connor's neck and tugs Connor down to his mouth.

***

It's been years since they've done this; sharing someone between them. And the thing is, without Sam here with him, Dean doesn't think he'd want Connor on his own. He still looks, for Christ's sake—because he's _old_ , not blind—but Sam's enough. Sam's…more than enough. More than he ever thought he could have.

That doesn't mean he won't thoroughly enjoy the moment, though. Connor's trouble. He's always been trouble, the few times their paths have crossed and recrossed. But in some way that Dean's never been able to define, Connor's always been _their_ kind of trouble, even when he was doing his best to break them apart.

It's strange, having someone else in their bed, having different skin, a different mouth, a different ass and cock. The rules are few and simple: Dean doesn't bottom. He's never bottomed for anyone but Sam and that's between them. Everyone wears a condom. Anyone can call it off.

But no one does call it off. They bring Connor off first. Dean fucks him hard, balls deep, and Sam sucks. When Connor lies spent and panting, Sam puts a new condom on Dean and straddles him. Dean wraps his fingers around Sam's cock and they go, fast, because they're both at that breaking edge. Connor's up after a moment; he kneels astride Dean's legs and pulls Sam's head back, bites and chews Sam's neck, rakes Sam's back with his nails until Sam comes over Dean's fist in hard messy spurts. When Sam clenches around him, Dean's back arches so hard he can feel it in his fucked up leg and Connor slithers around Sam to fuck Dean's mouth with his tongue in slowing pulses until they're all lying out of breath and boneless.

They put Connor between them and Dean is most of the way to sleep when Connor whispers, "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Dean rubs his hand over Connor's stomach gently, soothing, like he would with Sam. Both he and Sam have put on some weight in the intervening years—not a lot, just the inevitable thickening of age—but Connor is still whippet-thin, still so strangely, delicately small, looking barely any older than the last time they saw him or even the first time. Vampire parents, Dean thinks, wondering.

"I thought…" Dean opens his eyes and sees Connor staring up at the ceiling. "There's no room here. There's no space between you anymore."

"No," Dean agrees. It's only the truth. "But… You're still welcome here, Connor. You're still one of us, a hunter. But me and Sam…"

"No, I get it," Connor says. His chest hitches a little under Dean's palm. "I just… I'm so _tired_ …"

Sam shifts then, long after Dean thought he'd been asleep. He turns over to face them and his hand joins Dean's on Connor's skin. "Then stay a while," he murmurs and both Dean and Connor shiver. "Stay and rest."

Silence then, while Connor breathes, sharp and erratic, twisted up between them. Then finally, Connor nods. "Okay," he says, low and a little gruff. "Yeah. Thanks."

**Author's Note:**

> To clarify some history: I established in Scar Tissue that Connor and Sam know each other from Stanford, but I never really clarified the nature of that relationship. That was supposed to be all spelled out in Blood in the Water, a story mona1347 and I planned, but never wrote. The main gist of that story is as follows:
> 
> Connor and Sam had a relationship prior to Sam's relationship with Jess. It came to a rather abrupt end around the time of "Not Fade Away" in the Angel timeline and Sam doesn't see Connor again until Blood in the Water. At the time of Blood, Sam and Dean are still in the first year of their relationship and still feeling their way uneasily through how it's all going to work. Enter Connor.
> 
> Dean finds out that not only was Sam fucking Connor (which he could get past; Dean wasn't a nun himself), Sam was _hunting_ with Connor. And that throws Dean for a loop, because Sam's main stated reason for leaving was his inability to handle the hunting, his desire to be safe and then (as far as Dean can tell) the first thing he does in Palo Alto is to hook up with another hunter. So naturally, there's a little ill will there as well as a lot of hurt on Dean's part. And Connor doesn't do much to help the situation.
> 
> Obviously things end up mostly okay but Connor's always been a weird subject for the boys and he has a tendency to bring trouble into their life every time he shows up. 
> 
> I talk a great deal about Heart 'verse being my happy place and I think that I've taken that idea and infused it into the Heart 'verse at large. It started very gradually. Maybe just with the general idea of the school, all these kids who have come because they are variations on Sam and Dean themselves; children that have had their families torn apart and/or destroyed by something that the world at large doesn't admit exists, giving them no recourse but to seek outside the world at large for a solution. And there's something that they find at the school—more than just training for revenge. There is—as Fandom will attest—a power to simply finding out that you're not alone. My thought about Heart 'verse has always been that not all of its "graduates" go on to actually become hunters. For a few, merely the training, the community and the awareness that they're not insane and that their perceptions of what happened were correct, is enough. And they go on to be the support staff, for lack of a better term. The Underground Railroad of hunters. 
> 
> So in that sense, I was already sort of unconsciously envisioning the school as a haven. But it really wasn't an articulated thought until I was writing Eye of the Beholder (a story that comes later in the timeline, though it was written before this story). And in writing that, I realized I really love the idea of the school—and by extension, Sam and Dean—being kind of…a healing place. Like I said, a sanctuary. And then enter Connor. 
> 
> Connor is a damaged person. He's warped by Holtz from earliest childhood then obtains some measure of oblivious peace as Connor Reilly. By the time of "Not Fade Away", he has his memory back, but canon ends before we can see the outcome of this sudden shift in perception. 
> 
> In any case, I can't believe that—his last few scenes in canon notwithstanding—that it's not a headfuck. He's Angel's son, he's Holtz's, he's the Reilly's…and yet potentially, he's none of theirs, a pot spoiled by too many cooks. And with his speed, his strength and the lineage standing behind him, like Sam, he ain't never gonna be normal.
> 
> But the distinguishing factor between Sam and Connor is the same factor between Sam and Max Miller; neither Connor nor Max has a Dean, someone who—in this world—has been not only Sam's defender and touchstone, but his lover and his love. Simply put, Sam's never had to be alone. And that's made all the difference.
> 
> So I envision Connor (as the aforementioned product of vampire parents) potentially aging more slowly than his full human counterparts, lacking a family, lacking a Dean and suffering the same inability as the Winchesters to create and maintain meaningful relationships in light of his destiny (or choice) as a Champion. And so he is lone. And he is lonely. 
> 
> And then there is Sam and Dean, who have always fascinated him, because they are like him but not like him and because they have each other. And so like others before him, Connor comes into Heart 'verse looking for some kind of balm for his spirit and heart. And he doesn't find exactly what he's looking for—it's no less than the truth when he says there's no longer any space between Sam and Dean for him to insinuate himself into—but they can and do make enough room in their life for him to get what he needs. And that's the heart of Heart 'verse.


End file.
